


Journey to You

by SanityisOverrated



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anchors, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Fluff, Gen, M/M, POV Sheriff Stilinski, Pining, Post 3a, Sheriff Stilinski Doesn't Know, Sheriff Stilinski is a Good Dad, Stiles is Derek's Anchor, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:31:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanityisOverrated/pseuds/SanityisOverrated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheriff really wants to ask who the hell is D? and why are their postcards covering up my fridge? But if he does, Stiles might move them. And there’s something to be said about waking up to his son’s sleepy smile as he drinks his OJ and fiddles with the placement of the magnets.<br/>Inspired by <a href="http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/post/58941856675">this</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sheriffs Point of View

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm new to writing for Teen Wolf, but I saw [this](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/post/58941856675) post on tumblr and got an overload of feels, so I was up until 5am writing it. In my little divergence, Derek leaves but the Sheriff never knows about all the supernatural stuff because they stopped the Darach before it came to that. Hope you like!
> 
> P.S. There are for sure two, perhaps three parts in this. The first part will be the Sheriffs POV, the second will be Stiles POV over the same timeline, and the third part could be Derek's POV after he left if people want it/I'm able to write it. Comments and kudos are appreciated!

It all started with a simple postcard arriving in the mail on a Thursday afternoon. It was addressed to Stiles and John thought nothing of it when he handed it to his son when he came home from school. But then Stiles turned it over, saw the message on it and smiled for the first time in weeks. John looked at it later, confused as to how a small picture of Death Valley with ‘It’s hot. -D’ could change his sons mood so quickly, but shrugged and left it alone.

That was two weeks ago, and John is rushing down the stairs to go to work when he turns the corner into the kitchen and stops. They got a second one yesterday, with a greeting from Los Angeles and yet another cryptically worded ‘Too many people. -D’ that had made Stiles laugh out loud when he got home from school and seen it. Now Stiles is standing in front of the fridge looking at the two postcards with a small smile on his face as he drinks OJ before heading off to school. By now Johns curiosity was rampant, but he let it slide, as the sight and sound of Stiles smiling and laughing was far too rare a sight these days.

John worried, constantly, especially before the cards started appearing as Stiles seemed to withdraw more and more. Just as John was thinking of forcing Stiles to the doctors for insomnia, because christ, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Stiles actually asleep, the first card had arrived and hours after that, Stiles was passed out on the couch, clutching it in his fingers.

 

John heaved a sigh and moved into the kitchen, nodding as Stiles mumbled a greeting, taking his hand away from the magnet holding the postcards like he was guilty of something. There was still a softness around his eyes as he looked at them though, and John breathed a silent sigh of relief that whoever this D was had managed to comfort his son in a way that he obviously couldn’t. Stiles was quieter these days, but still sounded like a herd of elephants whenever he got home, so John took comfort in that. He huffed a laugh and went to grab his coffee so he could get to work, hugging Stiles briefly on his way out the door.

There’s no postcards for another two weeks and John watches as Stiles withdraws more and more, wishing he knew who this D was so he could thrash them to within an inch of their life and drag them back, or at least force them to write to Stiles again. It almost physically pains him to see how much Stiles obviously misses whoever D is, because of all the times he’ll catch him staring at the postcards or clutching one to him. They always end up back on the fridge however.

oO~Oo

Scott comes over one day, and John eyes the boys as they grab food and journey up the stairs with their arms piled high. Stiles hasn’t seemed to be hanging out with Scott as much anymore, but from the little he’d pried out of Stiles, it was because of Allison and Isaac, who Scott seems to have befriended and grown close to. He shook his head and sighed. It was always girls, and it made him curious as hell to who D was, because the only time he’d seen that level of dependency was in himself, years ago. Stilinski’s didn’t do anything lightly.

So Scott was back with Allison and was distancing himself from Stiles. Not on purpose, he mused, watching the easy way Scott chatted about stuff, but he also didn’t seem to catch on to the air that was always about Stiles these days. It was almost like grief, and John found himself holding his breath in the mornings when he ventured into the kitchen for coffee, as he would always find Stiles paused in front of the fridge until he came down, looking or glaring at the postcards. No, the boys had come too far to lose their friendship over this, but it wasn’t as close as they had been over the last year.

The next day John is home, getting ready for a late shift, when the mail comes. He’s perusing it, cursing the bills and advertisements when he sees it. Another postcard, addressed to Stiles, with yet another cryptic message. The picture is of someplace called Calico Ghost Town, and the only words on it are ‘There aren’t any ghosts -D’. John stares at it for the longest time until he hears Stiles pulling up in his jeep and quickly sets it down among the mail as if he hadn’t read it yet and goes to the living room.

Stiles comes in, making his usual cacophony when all of a sudden it’s quiet. John sighed with a sad smile before calling out “How was school?”.

“School was, ah, good. Fine. The usual. You know how it is.” Stiles answered quickly, voice pitched slightly higher than it would’ve normally been. John heard his son venture to the kitchen, stopping in front of the fridge and holding for a minute. He knew Stiles had put the postcard on the fridge and was staring at it, touching the written words like they were physical evidence of something. And maybe they were.

Stiles was his usual self for the next week, fumbling everywhere and John felt something within him settle at the happiness in his son’s face. He even saw him off when he went off for the weekend to have a catch up sleepover with Scott. He came home quieter, but responded positively to Johns questions about their time, so he let it slide with a sigh to himself. Then, like last time, two weeks went by and John noticed his son getting quieter, more pensive until, like clockwork, another postcard arrived in the mail.

John saw it late one night coming in from a day shift that had gone late, and stopped in his tracks in front of the fridge. It was a picture of Berkeley, and simply said, in that handwriting that he’d come to recognize and despise, ‘Nice campus -D’. He sighed and slowly climbed up the stairs, listening for any noise from his sons room, and not hearing any. He peered in, catching Stiles asleep at his desk and was about to wake him when he saw what he had open.

He took a moment to process it, leaning against the doorway with a sigh and just looked at his son, head burrowed in his arms in a position that did not look the least bit comfortable, with his mouth open as he slept. On the screen, there was a familiar picture with a “Welcome to Berkeley” in big bold letters in the middle. Stiles was in his junior year of high school, he understood the need to look at colleges and had no small amount of pride in his son's achievements, but... Berkeley? He told himself it was irrational to despise someone who sent Stiles postcards for stealing his son away from him before he went down and then came up the stairs loudly, watching as the light under Stiles door turned off and the bed springs creaked.

He waited to hear from Stiles about looking at colleges, but to no avail. Stiles was closemouthed on the matter and it would’ve been too obvious to ask about it and maybe miss the soft look in Stiles eyes when he looked at the postcards, cluttering up the space on the front of their fridge. Not that John minded, because the more there were up there, the happier Stiles was whenever he saw them for some reason. He couldn’t help but worry that his son was too dependent on these postcards to hear from D, but shook his head at himself.

A week after the last postcard and John was home at the same time as Stiles again, but this time hadn’t bothered to check the mail. Stiles came in from school with his backpack over his shoulder and mail in hand. As he set it on the table, a postcard fluttered away from the rest and Stiles pounced on it with wide eyes. He beamed as he looked at it and John, walking in from the kitchen, paused momentarily, punched in the gut at the happiness he saw on Stiles face.

“Anything good?” He questioned, moving towards the stack of papers. Stiles jumped and jerked away, sidling towards the fridge. “Nope, not that I saw! Unless you count electric bills as good things, in which case then yes, you should be very happy and relieved to know that they have remembered to bill us yet again for our use of energy. Have fun paying that! I totally appreciate it by the way, nothing would be the same without good old electricity.” Stiles laughed awkwardly and tripped into the kitchen. John smothered a laugh and picked up the rest of the mail, moving into the living room to examine it.

Later he paused by the fridge and examined it. A simple picture from Yosemite with a message that makes him raise his eyebrows. ‘I think you’d like it here -D’. So this D knows Stiles well enough to say things like that. He sighs and shakes his head. It’s only plagued him the last three months on who exactly this D is, it’d do him little good to buy himself a headache with all the credit he’s saved up on the issue.

oO~Oo

A month later he’s glumly wondering how long it would take to get a name out of his son so he can go grab them and shake them for doing this to his son. He’s of the idea that whatever feelings his son harbors, they’re obviously unrequited, or he never had the nerve to tell whoever the hell this D is, which sounds more likely considering Lydia Martin and his Ten Year Plan. There hasn’t been a postcard since the Yosemite one and John recognizes the look in Stiles eyes, a manic exhaustion that refuses to go away. He’s noticed the coffee Stiles gulps down like it’s water and hates it, hates that he can’t do anything for him.

It’s the full moon the next night and John is exhausted, bone weary when he finally gets home that night, or early morning rather. More accidents happen on the full moon these days than on any other night and he and his deputies have been busy fielding reports of accidents and sightings of wild animals. They never find anything to back it up, but it makes for one hell of a night listening to the people talk about what they saw. John walks inside, hangs his keys up and turns around to go to bed, stopping abruptly.

“Stiles?” Stiles is sitting in the living room, just gazing out the window at the moon, an expression on his face that makes John hurt for his son. It’s longing and wistfulness and the kind of sadness that comes from loving someone deeply who isn’t there. John should know, he’s had years of experience.

“Hey dad,” Stiles says quietly, jerking his gaze away from it, blinking a few times as if he’s been looking into the light too long. “How was work?”

“Busy. Lots of calls about animals and car accidents. The usual.”

Stiles laughed harshly. “Yeah, the usual.” He got up, looking weary beyond his years and John sighed to himself internally. “Get some sleep, dad.” Stiles said quietly, squeezing his shoulder as he walked past. John watched him climb the stairs with a heavy heart.

A postcard arrives a couple days later, but somehow that doesn’t make things better and John is busy with a case, which means that one night he walks past the fridge and then stops, taking a second glance. There’s yet another postcard, this one from San Diego, which is a lot further south than the others have been and containing yet another message that makes his eyebrows travel towards his receding hairline. ‘I should teach you how to surf -D’. When he ventures up to Stiles room, it’s to see his light still on and his heart sinks as he catches the motion of Stiles moving around inside. It means that his son still isn’t asleep after being awake at least the last two days.

He knocks quietly and pokes his head inside. “What are you doing up, kiddo?” Stiles looked up from his computer and plastered a tired smile on his face. “Just got caught up in some reading, nothing big.” John rubs a hand over his face tiredly but sighs and says “Alright. I’m gonna go to bed, get some sleep, alright?”

“Alright.”

“Love you, son.”

“Love you too, dad.” John closes the door softly and turns away, knowing that Claudia would’ve handled this better and _hurts_.

 oO~Oo

The next two weeks are hell and it seems even Scott has no clue what’s going on until he comes over one day and happens to look at the fridge. Stiles has managed to catch a few hours of sleep here and there, but its still obviously not enough and it shows in the bags under his eyes and slow reactions. He’s in the dining room, mumbling his way through examining a paper Scott brought over for him to proofread because his teacher hated him. Scott wanders into the kitchen and John looks up with a smile that fades when he sees the look on Scotts face as he looks at the postcards.

Scott looks at him with wide eyes and is gone from the kitchen moments later. Scott drags Stiles up to his bedroom and there’s a rather loud, insistent conversation happening above his head and John just sighs and pours himself a shot. It’s happy hour somewhere in the world, right? Minutes later Scott comes down the stairs noisily with an unhappy look on his face and rushes out the door with a mumbled goodbye.

A couple days later there’s one waiting that has a general picture of California and all the touristy spots with a simple ‘I miss you. -D’ scribbled over it. John hears Stiles inhale sharply when he finds it, choking on what sounds suspiciously like a sob, before he goes to put it on the fridge. John wonders if Scott has anything to do with it and begins to wonder if he should attempt to corner the boy to question him on the identity of this D that Stiles is so hung up over. He sighs and figures he’ll give it a couple days, because he can’t stand walking on eggshells around his own son anymore.

However, that weekend there’s no longer any reason to do that. There’s a knock on the door, and Stiles goes to answer it, John not thinking anything of it. However, there’s the sound of a glass dropping and shattering and John is on his feet before he can think. He rounds the corner and finds Stiles backing away from the doorway, face white.

“Stiles?” He asks, coming forward. He sees who’s at the door and stops, confused. It’s Derek Hale. His son looks like he’s about to have a panic attack and John is suddenly calling himself every kind of idiot there is. Derek Hale is D. How could he have been so stupid, when he had known that Stiles had been seen around town with Scott and Derek?

The sound of Stiles struggling to drag in a breath catches his attention and he starts forward, concerned and remembering all the panic attacks his son had gotten after his mother had died, but Derek is already there, holding him as Stiles sinks to the floor and dragging Stiles’ hand up to his own chest, over his heart and telling Stiles to breathe with him. This isn’t his first time handling this, John thinks grimly. Yet another one of the secrets Stiles has been keeping from him this past year, he thinks, and sighs.

Stiles begins to breathe, ragged gulps of air that sound painful. He’s shaking, John notices and comes forward, shuffling around Derek to close their door and then turned to survey the two boys on the floor. Men, really, Stiles was almost eighteen and was losing the gangly awkwardness that had caught him at puberty. Now it was just Stiles being Stiles. He snorts and then goes to crouch in front of them.

“Stiles?” His heart clenches in his chest when he sees the tears in his son’s eyes, but first he has to ensure that he’s alright physically. He reaches out and grabs a wrist, monitoring his pulse and frowning at the rabbit fast pace. Derek is still holding Stiles’ other hand to his chest, breathing deliberately so Stiles will copy him.

“Let’s bring him to the couch,” John says quietly, motioning for Derek to follow him. Stiles clutches at Derek and Derek climbs up gracefully, even supporting most of Stiles weight. He turns away as they look at each other, groaning mentally to himself about having to deal with this. His fears that Stiles feelings were unrequited were put to rest as soon as he saw how Derek helped Stiles onto the couch, immediately sitting down next to him, maintaining touch at all times, John noted.

He went to grab a glass of water, frowning as he surveyed the mess in front of the door and decided it could wait. He walked back to see Derek looking rather unhappy and Stiles curled up away from him on the opposite end of the couch. He handed the glass to his son and watched as they both avoided his gaze. He sat down in his armchair and spoke as soon as they were both looking at him.

“Let’s talk. Derek, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure outside of official business. My name is John Stilinski. You staying here for long?”

Derek met his eyes, steady and sure. “As long as I’m needed, sir.”

John nodded, gaze softening as it landed on Stiles. “Stiles, doing alright there?”

“Yeah, sorry about that. It was just a bit of a surprise.” He mumbled. He was quiet and pale, and John was worried because as far as grand reunions went, this one sucked. He got out of the armchair and gave his son’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’m going to go clean up the mess in the walkway, you guys need to talk.”

He was gone for five minutes and came back when he was done, to see Derek getting up looking frustrated. He almost laughed as it took him back twenty years to when he was courting Claudia. She had led him on a merry chase with her passion and love for life, but it hadn’t all been fun and games. He should’ve known Stiles would take after her in that way as well.

Stiles stomped out and up to his bedroom, Derek watching out of the corner of his eye, not half as subtly as he thought he was. John met his eyes when he looked up with a sympathetic wince. He led him to the door and paused him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Those postcards kept him sane. Made _me_ insane with curiosity and worry each time he started getting down, but I should’ve known nothing is ever as easy as I could hope it would be with that kid.”

Derek laughed at that and John looked at him thoughtfully, thinking perhaps he knew what his son had seen in the man standing beside him.

“I haven’t quite decided on what’s going to happen, but I do know that he deserves a chance at happiness and if you can give him that than I won’t begrudge him it.”

Derek nodded and shook his hand before leaving quietly. John got a call a few minutes later from the station saying they needed him for a couple hours and sighed as he left after leaving a note. He didn’t expect Stiles wanted to be bothered at the moment, and wasn’t sure what he would find. He came back in the middle of the night and went straight to bed, catching a few hours of sleep before waking up and deciding to make breakfast. He expected to find at least a little evidence of Stiles having broken something in a fit of anger, but that wasn’t what he found the next morning. He stopped after opening the door halfway, mind blank. Derek was curled around his sons sleeping form, head buried in the crook of Stiles neck, both in their clothes from the previous day, as the disarray of blankets showed him. He may or may not have breathed a little easier after seeing that.

He sighed and backed out slowly, then poked his head back through. “Breakfast in twenty minutes, and don’t think you’re getting out of it, I expect to see you down there as well Derek.”

He smiled to himself as he closed the door to frantic whispers and went down the stairs with a light hearted whistle on his lips, already wondering just what threats he could get away with.

oO~Oo


	2. Stiles POV Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles POV of the timeline in the previous chapter. It's getting longer and longer, so I decided to break it up. Apologies for the wait!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I'm writing this at 1am, or rather, finishing it up, listening to a completely cliche song that I've been avoiding ever since it got popular because I had a feeling I'd get it stuck in my head(I was right, I have it on repeat) and had this completely random moment. I have two very special ladies in my life that I don't know what I would do without, and regardless of whether one(because I have no doubt the other will be reading this, as she's only been bugging me to finish this chapter ever since I got the first out) will see this or not, I want to get this emotional rant out and say that I would do absolutely _anything_ for them, and love them very dearly.

Stiles tapped his fingers absentmindedly as he pulled into the parking lot at Derek’s apartment. He jogged up the stairs and got into the lift mindlessly, whistling a little tune and hoping Derek was home so he could get his wallet before his dad asked him why he kept asking for money. He had a perfectly good, usable card that his dad put a little allowance into every month, and if he went for much longer he’d need to tell his dad he had lost it. He thought he had left it at the loft, but he couldn’t have been certain in the chaos following Derek killing the Darach and the Alpha pack leaving town with an unsteady truce with what was left of the Hale pack.

The lift jerked to a halt and Stiles stepped out, eyes going to the spot where Boyd had bled out, and for a moment, his grief weakened his knees before Cora walked out, lifting an eyebrow at him. He’d like to think it was in concern because werewolves were freaky like that, always able to tell what you were thinking or feeling, but in reality it was more of a confused ‘what the fuck are you doing here’. Derek stepped out of his bedroom and Stiles gaze was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Derek looked haggard, and Stiles ached with a need to comfort that he hadn’t felt in years, not since the grief of his mother’s passing was new and his dad had needed someone who understood. Dereks head jerked towards him and he stilled when he caught the look on Stiles face.

“Stiles?” He asked in confusion, as if he couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him. His nostrils flared and he took a hesitant step forward, eyes on Stiles face, trying to read him when Stiles eyes hadn’t left the bag in Dereks hands since he had stepped out of the bedroom.

“You... your moving?” Stiles asked, voice cracking. Derek looked almost pained until he pulled himself together and moved to collect his keys from the table.

“We’re leaving.” He said, voice clipped and final. Stiles felt the axis of his world tilt, and realized Cora was watching him with a calculating expression. He pulled himself together, breathing and working on keeping his heartbeat from running away with him, like he’d been working on privately.

“Leaving. Leaving where?” Stiles attempted to ask innocently. By the unimpressed look Cora was giving him, he wasn’t succeeding, but Stiles couldn’t be bothered, he was watching as Derek tensed, back still turned to him. He walked towards Derek, burying everything else he was feeling with anger.

“Nowhere in particular. What are you doing here?” Derek asked sharply, moving away as Stiles advanced on him.

“I think I left my wallet here the other night and it has a few things I need.” Stiles said tonelessly, watching as Derek hefted his bag and picked up another, walking to Cora and handing it to her before gesturing her to the door and turning to face him.

“Your wallet is by the windows. I wasn’t sure whose it was, so I just left it. Landlord will be by in a couple hours to lock the place up. Be gone by then.” Derek said, heading for the lift where Cora was waiting. Stiles walked over to the huge windows behind the table and found his wallet.

“Derek.” Stiles blurted out.

“What, Stiles.” Derek asked impatiently, pausing and glancing back.

“Goodbye.” Stiles whispered, knowing Derek would hear him. It sounded final, forever, and his heart gave a painful lurch. He watched, leaning against the windowsill as Derek got into the lift and closed the door behind him He controlled his breathing until he heard the lift leave, and sank to the floor, heart threatening to explode out of his chest as his breathing hitched.

It was another goodbye that he should’ve expected, but had hoped wouldn’t happen. It wasn’t as if he mattered, not these days when everything in their town was shot to supernatural hell and he was just the weak, fragile human who was useful for research. And Scott, fucking hell, they’d had what Jackson used to call a platonic love story since they were seven and yet these days it was like Scott couldn’t be bothered. Not that Stiles could blame him, if he had become a supernatural creature and promptly fallen in love with someone whose parents shot your kind on a regular basis, he’d be busy too.

Stiles sat there and quietly had one of the worst panic attacks he’d had in forever until what sounded like a howl broke through the fog and he slumped on the ground gradually drawing air into his aching lungs. He stayed for what seemed like hours, but was only forty minutes when he checked his phone. He grunted as he got up, feeling exhaustion settle right there behind his eyes and he looked into the bedroom that used to be Dereks, with the bed stripped and wondered if the mattress would still smell like him. He twisted away, wondering desperately when noticing guys were hot, that Derek fucking Hale was hot had blown into this massive crush that he had.

He left, the door closing with a final shudder behind him and he stared blankly at the walls as the lift moved. In the end, he wasn't even sure how he got home, but the next time he became aware of his surroundings, he was in his bedroom, sitting on the edge of his bed and Scott was climbing through his window with a concerned expression. It was reminiscent of the few times Derek had done something like that and for a moment Stiles’ breathing hitched and Scott was there, grabbing his shoulders and asking him what was wrong.

“What’re you doing here?” He said, shaking Scotts hands off his shoulders and throwing himself backwards on his bed so he could avoid the puppy dog eyes.

“Uh... just thought I’d check on you.” Scott said, turning away. Scott had many tells for when he was lying, and Stiles had nearly every one of them pinned down. He narrowed his eyes at his friend, but let it go.

“I’m fine.” He deflected lightly. “How’s the Alpha business going?”

Scott made a face and let himself fall onto the bed beside Stiles, quiet for a few moments. Stiles let him be, knowing he was gathering his thoughts.

“It’s.... different. There’s a different kind of awareness of things with it now, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with it. Or if I have a pack.”  
“What about the twins? I heard they were staying in town because of Lydia and Danny.” Stiles asked, sidetracked from his depression at the thought of it and what it would mean. “They’re still alphas, right? And Deucalion left town to regain his vision and all that shit, which, believe me, I’m so happy about, happy doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

Scott laughed, then sobered. “Yeah, they are staying in town, but... they also said that they didn’t want to be alphas to a pack or anything, and said they’d follow whatever rules I set in place. I guess I can’t begrudge them the chance to experience this, after what they’ve been through. They never even got to try and be normal.”

Stiles contemplated that for a while. Of course Scott would work with them about that. “So... are they in your pack or anything?”

“Uh... no? I think it’s only Isaac, and I haven’t even talked to him about it. He and Allison are hanging out a lot.” Scott said quietly. Stiles just laid a hand on his shoulder in companionable silence and let it go until Scott sat up and then looked at him.

“You alright? You smell... sad.” Stiles blinked at his friend, taken aback.

“I smell sad? What the hell?” Scott grinned sheepishly. “Oh, yeah, everything’s a bit more enhanced, I can smell strong emotions.” Stiles was shocked into silence, not even sure what the hell to say to him. Did that mean Derek could... he closed his eyes in embarrassment and groaned.

“Dude, no, I’m fine, that’s just some weird shit and I don’t want to think about it right now.” He swatted at Scott who was hovering over him in concern. Scott grinned and stood up, probably knowing exactly what he was thinking, the bastard. It came with growing up together, always knowing what the other was thinking.

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow then?” Scott asked. Stiles nodded and summoned a smile. “Don’t forget to study for that chemistry test!” he called out after Scott disappearing out his window, laughing to himself when he heard a groan of realization and then a crash. And it wasn’t even weird to not be worried that his best friend may or may not have fallen off the roof because of the healing factor. Stiles only really worried when the supernatural came into it and that was just a normal aspect of his life now.

He went out and decided to make himself a sandwich and some coffee, because all of a sudden marathoning the shit out of something sounded like a good idea.

+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

 

Stiles passed the next few days in a haze. It was a state of vague awareness of what was happening around him, supplanted by the ability to make conscious decisions without thinking anything about them beyond that. Lydia gave him a few weird glances, but then again, that was kind of the usual now that they interacted enough for her to give Stiles any kind of attention. He babbled about random topics, about the weather, about what Deaton had said to them all about expecting supernatural shit to start going down, but never the topic of Derek, or any of the Hales. If anyone noticed, they didn’t comment on it.

The days bled into each other, and Stiles was surprised to see the calendar switched to another month one morning when he stumbled into the kitchen before school. He blinked at it, shrugged and went to school after inhaling a cup of coffee, something that had become routine. He stayed up to the point of exhaustion, and then a bit more until it was either sleep or blacking out from exhaustion. He got by with the bare minimum, restless and haunted until he woke up.

It was Wednesday before he talked to Scott for the week. They saw each other at school and still talked as if nothing were wrong, but Stiles heard voices talking to him in between those times when he was assured Scott remembered him, whispering about not being needed or wanted, that he was weak and pathetic, human and knew Scott didn’t feel like sharing the newfound werewolf stuff. It was fine, he got that it wasn’t something he would really get unless he was part of the club himself, but it still hurt that Scott seemed to forget that they had been friends before all of this had happened. That he’d had a life before the supernatural intervened.

He woke up the next morning after an hour and a half of sleep haunted by the sound of dripping water and shuddered, walking straight to the bathroom to turn on the shower, pausing long enough to kick off his pajama pants and stepping into the steaming water with a hiss. His skin was ice cold and he stood under the pounding stream until the water ran cold and only then scrubbed himself down and went to get ready for school. His dad was in the kitchen to wave and watch with concerned eyes as Stiles abused the coffee yet again. For all that he was drinking coffee like it was water and abusing his Adderall, he felt no side effects and was quieter than ever.

He supposed he should be worried about something like that, but if anything, the excess energy just dulled him to the world around him even more as he fought with his body to stay up for far longer than anyone should deal with. The few hours he tried to sleep always ended with him jerking awake, heart pounding like it was going to run out of his chest. It was an uncomfortable feeling, one that normally led into or came during a panic attack, but he hadn’t had one in a while now, which he was grateful for. School was a blur, and Harris didn’t even find anything to give him detention over, which surprised Stiles.

He waved to Scott in the parking lot, and watched him go off with Isaac with an ache in his chest. He knew Isaac was a good guy, and in moments of impartial clarity, was glad that Isaac had found someone as great as Scott to be friends with after all the shit that had been thrown at him. Isaac deserved a sense of normality, or as much of one as he could get while being a werewolf, and having a friend that you could talk to about everything was a part of it. Scott could be that for him, Stiles had no doubt, knowing Scott and how good he was. Despite becoming a werewolf, Scott was still overwhelmingly good, and Stiles felt the darkness grow stronger within him with each day that passed.

He drove home in a mindless blur, and blinked when he found himself at home, wondering if he should be concerned that he was so out of it and shook his head. At least it dulled the pain of having no one there for him. He shuffled inside, barely registering that his father was home before he saw him at the kitchen table, absentmindedly sorting through the mail.

“How was school?” His dad asked, tossing a few things on the table with a look that told Stiles they were all bills.

“Fine.” He answered shortly, going to move past his father.

“You got something in the mail.” John said with a hand on his arm. Stiles turned, not bothering to hide his surprise. Nothing ever came in the mail for him unless it was the holidays or his birthday. His father was holding out something that looked like... a postcard? Stiles took it and turned it over, eyes widening when he saw the message on it. The picture on the front was of Death Valley and scrawled across the picture was a simple ‘It’s hot. -D’, but Stiles suddenly felt himself grinning.

It felt odd, and the fact that it felt odd was bothering, but Stiles was too busy clutching the postcard. He moved into the living room and sat on the couch to try and settle himself, knowing his father was staring at him and the smile on his face with far too much relief. He hadn’t had much occasion to observe Derek’s writing, but something told him that it couldn’t be anyone else. Not with such a short abrasive comment like ‘It’s hot’ for a postcard from Death Valley.

Stiles laid back, sprawling on the couch and feeling a tension he hadn’t noticed leave his shoulders and neck. He held up the postcard, examining the writing that was scrawled across the picture and that had written his address. He wasn’t sure how Derek would’ve acquired that, he’d never had need to memorize it, Stiles was pretty sure. His eyes slid shut just for a moment to imagine it, but before he knew it, he was asleep.

He woke up slowly, hours later, disconcerted to discover that it was dark. He could’ve sworn it had just been a few minutes, but the evidence suggested otherwise. Ever since shit hit the fan, he’s never been able to wake up like this, savoring the feeling of warmth and security. He blinks around the living room, finally sighing and getting up, discovering a note on the table from his dad about having a late shift and that he could order pizza if he felt like it.

Stiles looked down at the postcard still clutched in his fingers, and made a choice. He walked into the kitchen and hung it on the fridge with a magnet, wondering what his father would, or wouldn’t, say about this. Either way, he wanted to be reminded of this, desperately latching onto this little piece of paper as an example that perhaps he wasn’t completely forgotten in a big world filled with so many things he couldn’t deal with. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just in an emotional headset at the moment, don't mind this little thing. I grieve for the lives that you and I will never meet, that will never have the chance to know what amazing parents they would've had. I am so very sorry, liebling.
> 
> This has not been edited, and I don't have time to make sure format is good, so if there's anything wrong, I apologize and will get back to it after the weekend, as I'll be out of town. Thanks for reading!


	3. Stiles POV Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets more postcards and fights a darkness that whispers things to make him doubt himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey wonderful readers! I freed up the chapter count because honestly, this thing has run away from me and I didn't want to be posting 2k chapters and then have to cram in an ending and make it 9k, like might've happened with Stiles if I hadn't figured 'Fuck this' and started sectioning it out. I'd guess perhaps 9 chapters at this point? Perhaps more, perhaps less with not knowing how long Derek's POV will be.  
> Hope there's not too many mistakes! I kinda self edit as I go

Stiles throws himself into his schoolwork for the next week, and is more himself than he has been in a while, keeping up a steady stream of animated babble whenever he’s at school or his father is home, earning him glances that were alternately suspicious and relieved. After he came to school the third day and was still acting normal, Scott had relaxed and stopped hovering, which had meant Isaac was trailing them and Stiles just wasn’t ready for that. 

He truly likes Isaac, and if circumstances were different, would probably even want to hang out with him, but right now, all he’s able to do is stuff his jealousy and fear that Isaac is stealing Scott’s friendship from him into the deep dark recesses of his mind so he doesn’t suffocate on it whenever he sees them around. However, the weekend comes and Stiles is suddenly swamped with this irrational terror, staring at the postcard on the fridge in front of him, that it’s the last thing he’s going to hear from Derek.  
His father comes stomping down the stairs to go to work and Stiles hurriedly dumps his orange juice in the sink and turns around just as his father rounds the corner.

“Hey Dad.”

“Stiles. You’re up.” John says, lifting an eyebrow at him. Actually, Stiles had never gone to bed, but he knew his dad hated it when he did that. Last night he had popped an extra Adderall without even thinking about it.

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep.” Stiles shrugged casually, knowing his father would know something was up, but wouldn’t pursue it. Not after everything that had happened, even if their relationship was slowly healing. His father looked at him silently for a few moments and Stiles chest hurt at the concern he could see there, but he let out an inaudible sigh or relief when his father just brushed past him with a quick pat on his shoulder

Stiles could sense the concern Scott and his father had for him growing as the week went by and he withdrew further and further into himself, plagued by thoughts of Derek never coming back. Perhaps he had been crushing harder than he thought. All he knew is that as the week went on, the dark cloud that blanketed him and darkened his mood grew darker, heavier, suffocating him with whispers, planting doubts in his mind until he had panic attacks, stifling the noise into his bed if his father was home. With no one around to snap him out of it, Stiles resorted to digging his fingernails into the tender flesh of his forearm so that his mind had to pay attention to the pain instead of the overwhelming panic that was growing in him.

The weekend passes and it’s Monday again before he’s aware of what’s happened, and Scott is finally pulling him aside in between classes, fixing him with that damnable puppy dog stare where he tries to be authoritative and instead comes out slightly hangdog and vaguely pathetic if taken the wrong way. Stiles sighs and hears him out before telling him he’s fine, he’s just not sleeping well. Scott opens his mouth to say something and Stiles has never been more relieved to hear the sound of the bell then he is at that moment. He grabs his chance and smacks Scott on the shoulder with yet another assurance that he’ll be fine and runs off to face down Harris.

He gets home from school and has just shut the door when he sees it among the pile of mail where his father dropped it. Another postcard, colors bright and calling to him. He drops his backpack and scrambles to pick it up, grabbing his father's interest from the kitchen. He doesn’t care when he sees the picture, the message, and can practically hear Derek saying the words written over the picture of the busy roads of Los Angeles. ‘Too many people. -D’ He laughs out loud at this, imagining the scowl that would have accompanied the suggestion that they go to LA, because Stiles just knows that this particular destination was Cora’s idea.

He turns away from where his father is staring at him curiously and puts the postcard on the fridge before opening it to get a snack, attempting nonchalance as he took the pile of food up to his room to work on homework. He breathes once he closes the door, telling himself that it doesn’t mean anything, Derek is probably just bored and thought he would let someone know he was alright. Or something.

He manages to go another week before the darkness inside manages to sneak back, whispering about how Scott doesn’t have time for him and how Isaac understands him better anyways. He’s a terrible son, a horrible friend, it’s no wonder everyone always leaves, not even his own mother could stay. That particular panic attack is nasty and Stiles leaves gouges in his arm from trying desperately to rein himself back in. They bleed a little, and Stiles wears a long sleeve plaid over his normal shirt just so then no one will come to the wrong conclusion, when he isn’t even sure they’d be wrong.

He has Scott over, partly to reconnect, and partly to reassure himself that it isn’t true, Scott and Stiles have been Scott and Stiles since the day they met on the playground when they were both 5 years old at the time. It was like old times, stuffing their faces with junk food and playing Mario Kart into the early hours. Scott finally stumbled to the bed after Stiles reassured him it was fine. He ventured downstairs, knowing it was almost time for his father to get up for work. He set about making a pot of coffee, knowing his father will want it, grabbing some when it’s and going back upstairs to mess around on his computer until his father left for work.

He was dimly aware of footsteps pausing outside his door, but was lost in the thrall of a particularly gripping article on wolfsbane and the different types, so didn’t pay much attention. Before he knows it, he’s being shaken from a half-dream by Scott, who looks sheepish.

“Dude, you could’ve kicked me aside or something.”

They’ve shared the bed far too often by now for it to be an issue of self consciousness, so Stiles just shakes his head and sits up, wincing at the kink in his neck. “Nah, just got into researching a few things and got distracted. You know how it gets.”

He nudges Scott aside, grabbing his mug and moving to go downstairs. “Want some coffee?” He yawns and stretches, hearing a couple pops coming from his back. Scott follows him downstairs, giving him an odd look.

“What?” Stiles asks, mouthful of sugar spraying everywhere. He likes a little coffee with his sugar, what can he say.

“You seem different.” Scott says slowly, and Stiles blinks. Scott is far too observant for having only been awake for a few minutes. He narrows his eyes at him, absentmindedly stirring his coffee. “Dude, nevermind that I’m not the one who got turned into a werewolf, but the events of the past year are enough to change even the stubbornest motherfucker, and while I might be a stubborn asshole, it doesn’t mean that my world hasn’t been ripped apart. I can no longer say things like faeries don’t exist, because werewolves exist, how the hell do I know faeries don’t?”

Stiles was waving his arms and pacing, ranting at Scott who had a vaguely startled expression on his face. Stiles blew out a breath and clapped Scott on the shoulder. “No need to worry, I mean, I have you, Mr. Alpha, what do I need to fear now?”

Scott grinned at this and shook his head. “Alright, you’ve convinced me, but just because I’m an Alpha doesn’t mean shit isn’t going to happen.”

Stiles snorted. “It’s Beacon Hills. With a name like that, we’re never not going to have shit coming down on our heads, I mean, come on Scott.”

Scott laughed, and for that one afternoon, Stiles forgot the darkness, the emptiness inside, debating which supernatural creatures were actually real and which weren’t.

Scott left after they had lunch, looking guilty after telling Stiles that Isaac had called him and needed his help. Stiles waved him away, feeling more balanced than he had since he had seen that second postcard. It was weird, but he didn’t bother examining it, fearing what he would reveal to himself. Instead he trudged back upstairs, wondering if Scott had seen the postcards on the fridge and just chosen to not comment on them or was really that oblivious. He settled on oblivious, because there was no way that Scott would have let it go without asking questions.

The next day he gets home, mind abuzz with how his teachers must hate him if they were expecting him to get everything done over the weekend, tripping over his own feet in the doorway, when he caught a glimpse of the mail waiting innocuously on the table. There it was, a brightly colored corner peeking out from the boring white of bills and random advertisements. He pulled it out of the pile almost reverently, staring at the picture of some Ghost Town with the ‘There aren’t any ghosts. -D’ scrawled across it.

“How was school?” his father calls out from the living room. He blinks, opening his mouth to reply. “School was, ah, good. Fine. The usual. You know how it is.” He answered, and winces at how his voice betrays him. He walked to the kitchen, hoping his dad wouldn’t persist in asking things while his vocal cords were obviously having flashbacks to puberty.

He stuck a magnet on the postcard, putting it up on the fridge next to the others, staring at the three of them in contemplation for a minute, fingers brushing over the smooth glossy surface of the pictures, thinking about Derek picking them up and writing on them. The spark of hope that bloomed in his chest each time he got one was getting harder and harder to beat down with how many feelings were already there when it came to Derek. He sighed and turned away, picking up his backpack and going to his bedroom to get going on the pile of schoolwork that awaited him.

He restricted himself from using his Adderall like he had been these last few weeks, which resulted in him seemingly knocking over anything in his path and even things that weren’t, but these days the people around him just smiled fondly at him. It unnerved him, even as he breathed easier at seeing the lines around his fathers eyes ease as he clattered down the stairs. It made getting to sleep harder, but the dreams and nightmares were no less persistent. He woke feeling no less rested than normal, but at the very least his father thought he was getting some sleep.

He had a sleepover with Scott and felt himself rocking with shock when Scott revealed that Isaac was texting Cora regularly. He asked about Derek in the most innocent way he could manage and Scott didn’t seem to realize something was up with how tense Stiles had become when he revealed that Derek was fine. The rest of the weekend sped by, but Stiles honestly couldn’t be bothered to remember much beyond that point. It contained a lot of sugar and video games.

The next postcard arrived quietly in the mail a week and a half later. Stiles had passed it in a haze of sleep deprivation and attempting to quiet the voices inside his head by wildly researching everything supernatural in preparation for the showdown Scott said was headed their way, if Deaton was correct about the fact that with everything that had gone down, they were bound to draw a few things in. Stiles didn’t know what to think of the look Deaton had given him when he came in. He was aware of the fact that he looked tired, and okay, so his clothes had been on the floor before he put them on, but they were clean. He had made sure of it.

With his father at work, Stiles didn’t think much of getting the mail until he saw the postcard. The picture was of a sprawling campus that identified itself as Berkeley, with the words ‘Nice campus. -D’ written on it. Stiles chest hurt with the knowledge that Derek could be so close. Berkeley was two hours away from Beacon Hills, give or take a couple minutes.

He went upstairs to do his homework in a daze, mind picking apart reasons Derek could be in Berkeley. He finally groaned in frustration and brought up the Berkeley website, looking at several programs they offered and, despite himself, finding himself interested. Everyone knew college applications were coming up soon, but Stiles hadn’t put thought into where he would go, despite knowing he wanted to stay close for his father's sake. He found himself looking at it late into the night, and wasn’t even aware of laying his head on his hands and falling asleep.

The next week he found himself making excuses to pass by the fridge to see his growing collection of postcards, giving the Berkeley one a fair share of contemplative looks. He found himself visiting the Berkeley website more than once, and guiltily printed out their early acceptance form, hiding it under the clutter on his desk to look at later in the year. With how calm things were at the moment, with room to breathe, it felt odd to be thinking of such normal things like college. He didn’t miss the way his father looked at him whenever he walked into the kitchen and Stiles was in front of the fridge.

Receiving a new postcard so soon after the last, when the normal schedule had been every two weeks or so, was an unexpected, but pleasant surprise. It fluttered to the ground from the stack of mail he had grabbed and he thrust the other mail on the table as he grabbed for it. He grinned at it, seeing the familiar picture of Yosemite park. Derek was still fairly close. His father walked in, giving him a look that Stiles internally winced at. Surely he wasn’t so bad that seeing him smile made his father give him that look, right?

“Anything good?” His father just asked, moving to pick up the mail.

“Nope, not that I saw! Unless you count electric bills as good things, in which case then yes, you should be very happy and relieved to know that they have remembered to bill us yet again for our use of energy. Have fun paying that! I totally appreciate it by the way, nothing would be the same without good old electricity.” Stiles babbled, suddenly desperate to be away so he could look at the postcard in peace. He almost fell over his own feet in his haste to go to the kitchen and pin this postcard up so he could look at it.

He’s left desperately attempting to hang on and push the darkness back into the depths of his mind for the next two weeks. The first week he was fine, but as the second week passed and there was no postcard, it snuck in whispers about how Derek had given up on him, was moving away permanently, and how he had never really mattered. It didn’t matter how loud he screamed if no one was there to hear him, right?


	4. Stiles POV Pt 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last installment of Stiles POV for this story! Next chapter, which I'll try to have out next week, will be Derek's POV after he leaves Beacon Hills. As always, I welcome any comments or critique!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear god, and here I said I was separating it into multiple chapters so I wouldn't be making Stiles POV one big lump chapter. Well, here you have it, the final installment, settling in at somewhere around 5k, I think I remember. I personally felt my ending was weak, so if you catch that, yeah... I know X_x Ah well, I'll try and get back to edit it when I'm done with the story, which now only has Derek's POV to go. Get ready, get set.... read! Enjoy :)

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Stiles feels like he’s drifting underwater, watching the events of his life pass him by. He was all too familiar with the sensation of being underwater after the incident with the pool. He came away from it with a fear of being underwater for too long. He couldn’t help but remember the weight of Derek at his side, his desperation to keep him above the water, and slipping off the bar that he’d worked so hard to reach for, knowing that he wasn’t just condemning himself, but Derek as well when they slipped under the water.

He knows his abuse of the Adderall and coffee isn’t good for him, especially with the worried glances his father keeps throwing his way, but compared to giving in to sleep and seeing the things in his dreams that haunt him for days afterwards, he figures it’s an even trade.

It’s the day of the full moon and he hurts at the reminder. Scott talks to him at school about his and Isaac’s plans, but Stiles tunes him out, as usual. It’s not like they include him, and Scott has to deal with being an Alpha this time around, something that gives him momentary pause until he realizes that Isaac will be there.

Even if Derek never talked about it in detail, pack being together didn’t only mean strength for the alpha, it also lent stability to the other wolves, from what Stiles had observed. If Scott and Isaac had each other they would be able to support the other and hopefully not rip anyone apart. Stiles really hoped they didn’t go on a rampage, but he found that he couldn’t summon much energy to care. He drifted through the school day, observing Aiden and Lydia, and feeling nothing.

He sees the way Allison and Isaac looked at each other and felt his gut clench in sympathy when he saw the way Scott avoided looking at Allison. That was a situation in the making and he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry at the way, even broken up, Scott and Allison seemed to draw drama to them like moths to a flame. He’s so tired of it all, and catches himself thinking longingly of sleep, before shaking his head and reminding himself how long it had taken him to stop shaking after he had last drifted off.

He exits his last class, and waves to Scott as he’s pulling out of the parking lot, ignoring the way Scott looks at him as he leaves, knowing he was worried. Scott worried was like a big puppy who’d just been kicked and Stiles didn’t want to cave to that at the moment. He pulls into the driveway and sighs as he sees his fathers car is gone. Pulling another double shift then.

Stiles hesitated before walking over to the mailbox and checking the mail. There were only a few advertisements and bills, and he closed his eyes as a wave of pain swept over him. The voices surged inside his head, screaming that it was pathetic to be hung up on this. He opened his eyes, flinching at the sunlight as his eyes adjusted to the light again and made his way into the house, tossing the mail on the table and avoiding looking at the postcards on the fridge as he got a drink out of the fridge.

Once in his room, Stiles looked around and let his backpack drop to the ground with a sigh. He looked at his bed and his computer, before dropping face first onto his bed with a grunt. He closed his eyes and breathed, mind abuzz with the activities of the day and studiously avoiding thinking of the subject that was always on his mind. He had taken a double dose of Adderall this morning, but despite that, he was dragged into unconsciousness before he realized what was happening.

He jerked awake from a dream that had become a nightmare with a stifled sob and felt his stomach heave. There was nothing in it however, so he was able to breathe past it before he had to run to the bathroom. He looked around the room and listened for sounds that his father might be home, but detected none. He looked outside and sighed softly as he saw it getting dark. It was dusk, the last faint glimmers of sunlight stretched thin over the horizon.

Stiles rubbed a hand over his face and went downstairs, starting up a pot of coffee with weary resignation. He went upstairs with the largest mug they had, loaded with sugar and booted up his computer. The hours slipped away as he did his homework and then moved on to browsing the internet. After having practically memorized the bestiary, he’d moved on to browsing supernatural websites and writing down information so he could double check with Deaton on whether it was true or not.

The vet never turned him away, but Stiles didn’t tend to linger, feeling with uncomfortable acuity the emissaries gaze as he observed Stiles. The knowing look was getting on Stiles nerves, even when it carried a concerned edge. Stiles didn’t need Deatons help to deal with the madness that plagued him and stubbornly didn’t say anything when the man insisted he was always there if Stiles needed to talk. It was out of character for him, and Stiles wasn’t sure if he trusted him yet, despite what he’d done to show his support in the last few months.

The moon was high in the sky by the time he jerked out of his investigative haze. His room was shrouded in darkness, and he tripped over a shoe on his way out. The stairs were yet another hazard, but Stiles didn’t break his neck going down them, so he counted himself lucky. He set his cup down in the sink and was on his way out of the kitchen when he heard a howl. His chest seized and he stumbled into the living room, sinking into the nearest chair and putting his head between his knees as he fought off the panic attack.

He’d managed to keep them at bay for the last week, and no one knew about them. The closest he’d come to being discovered was when he’d had one at school in the bathroom two weeks ago and Isaac had come in just after he’d gotten control of his breathing. Isaac had given him a worried glance as they passed each other in the door, but Stiles avoided his gaze and rushed to his next class. This one hit him with no warning and all Stiles could do was curl up in the chair and fight his way through it.

Stiles finally uncurled himself and slumped into the chair, gaze drawn to the window, and the full moon that was right above him. He lost himself as he looked up at it, zoning out as he zeroed in on the white orb against the night sky. His mind wandered to Derek as something inside him unclenched and he felt a tear trickle down his face. Being reminded of Derek was normally the cause of panic attacks, but as Stiles looked at the moon all he could think about was Derek and wondering if he had found some place he could wander and let loose on his first full moon without Alpha status.

Stiles was lost inside his head when he heard the front door open, his fathers quiet footsteps sounding as he closed and locked the door, hanging up his keys and then turning for the stairs before stopping when he caught sight of Stiles looking up at the moon. Stiles didn’t want to look away, thoughts still on Derek, but jerked himself out of the dreamlike state he’d fallen into.

“Hey dad,” Stiles says quietly, blinking a few times as his vision was covered in white spots as his eyes adjusted. “How was work?”

“Busy. Lots of calls about animals and car accidents. The usual.” Stiles laughed harshly, thinking perhaps he should tell Scott to keep it down and go deeper into the Preserve before shrugging mentally. “Yeah, the usual.”

He got up, feeling the light of the moon as a personal reminder of what he’d lost before he was even eighteen. Stiles walked up to his father and paused, giving his dads shoulder a squeeze, wondering what he would do without him.

“Get some sleep, dad.” He said quietly, before walking up the stairs and grabbing his headphones. He has a paper that’s not due for another week, but he can get an early start on it tonight. He loses himself with that for the rest of the night.

  


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Stiles loses himself to a cycle of insomnia and nightmares that plague him whenever he sleeps. He knows he looks terrible. Scott and Isaac both give him puppy dog stares when he doesn’t even bother to fake being alright, but is instead quiet and withdrawn as he goes from class to class. His father, when they catch each other, looks at him sadly and Stiles hurts at the thought that he’s just adding more to his fathers worries.

A postcard arrives a few days after his panic attack, and Stiles has his heart in his throat when he looks at it, only to stiffen in horror as he sees where its from. _‘I should teach you how to surf. -D’_ is scribbled over a picture of a beach that names it. Mission Beach, San Diego. That’s a couple hours south, and means that Derek has moved from the general area around Beacon Hills and has probably left to find a pack to settle down with. He has Cora after all, the only family he has left, the only pack he needs.  

He’s still awake without having slept two days afterwards, having drinken at least two cups of coffee in the last couple of hours, when his father gets home. He comes up the stairs, pausing before he knocks and Stiles looks up from where he’s reading about... actually, he can’t remember, it was just a block of text that he was skimming over, his eyes feeling like sandpaper. Stiles turns in his chair and gives him a tired smile.

“What are you doing up, kiddo?” His father asks, reminding Stiles of the times after his mother had died that he had stayed up until his father got home because he was old enough to be left alone and trusted to take care of himself, but still young enough that he was terrified that one night his father wouldn’t be home when he woke up in the morning.

“Just got caught up in some reading, nothing big.” He deflects, and his father looks sad and worried for a second before his face clears and Stiles wants to cry into his shoulder and tell him everything, like he would before he grew up and his father was able to make everything alright. He watches his father rub a hand over his face, haggard after pulling another double shift. Stiles feels his chest clench with worry.

He still makes healthy meals and has his father eat them, but much of the time he’ll leave it in the oven or fridge with a note so his father doesn’t have the opportunity to ask him questions like Stiles knows he would.

“Alright, well, I’m gonna go to bed, get some sleep, alright?” Stiles was jerked out of his thoughts as his father answered, startled by the fact that it was seconds, and yet had felt like minutes as his thoughts ricocheted around in his head.

“Alright.” he said softly, knowing he wouldn’t. Perhaps he’d fake being asleep when his father went to work so he’d feel better about it.

“Love you, son.” His dad said.

“Love you too, dad.” Stiles replied, turning around as his father closed the door and shutting his eyes in pain. He sighed and rubbed them tiredly before opening Wikipedia.

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Time ceases to mean anything to him, and two weeks pass without him being aware of it. Scott, who’s been with Isaac more and more these days, suddenly tugs him aside one afternoon and asks him earnestly what’s going on. Stiles shrugs, tells him he just can’t sleep, that he’s sure it’ll get better soon. He lets himself ramble until something he says, or just the fact that he’s saying things, makes Scott relax and leave him alone. But Scott wants a favor, begging his help with a paper because his teacher doesn’t like him and Scott can’t fail another class.

Stiles feels his mouth tugging at the corners and shakes his head at his friend, resigned even as he agrees. Scott hugs him and promises he’ll be by right after school and Stiles nods and heads off to his next class.

Stiles gets home before Scott comes over, although he knows it’s probably only because Scott was talking to Isaac when Stiles got out. His fathers car is in the driveway, but he doesn’t see him anywhere and figures he must be sleeping. He goes to the kitchen and opens the fridge before grabbing a coke and chugging half of it down right as Scott pulls up on his bike and gets off. Stiles opens the door right before he knocks and waves him in, finishing up the coke and tossing it into the trash before moving to sit beside Scott

“Alright, O True Alpha, where is this evil English paper that we have to defeat?” Stiles says brightly, raising an eyebrow at Scott when he gets a bitch face. “Come on dude, you’re not going to fail another class.”

Scott mutters uncomplimentary things under his breath as he digs through his backpack, but Stiles catches his shoulders loosening and sighs mentally. He should have won an award in drama for all the acting he’s doing so his father and Scott will stop worrying about him so much. Scott presents his paper with a flourish just as Stiles’ father comes through and goes into the kitchen. Stiles grabs the paper and starts going over it before sending Scott into the kitchen for a pen.

He’s completely absorbed by trying to follow a path of logic that is almost impossible to keep track of, with all the different tangents Scott keeps trailing off on, when Scott himself comes storming out of the kitchen. Stiles looks up, reaching for a pen that Scott doesn’t have, and is grabbed out of his chair and manhandled up to his bedroom where Scott shoves him inside and promptly closes the door. Stiles looks at him wide eyed, heart beating erratically as he wonders what the hell has gotten into his friend and how quickly he could access the mountain ash he got from Deaton a couple weeks ago.

“Dude, what the hell?” He sputters.

“Stiles! Why do you have so many postcards from Derek?” Scott blurts.

“Maybe they’re not from Derek.” Stiles muttered, flopping onto his computer chair and spinning around restlessly.

“They smell like him.” Scott said flatly. Stiles jerked around and gave him a confused look. “They’re postcards, no one handles them for longer than it takes to sign them, how would they smell like him.”

Scott shrugged helplessly, looking slightly thrown at Stiles question. “I don’t know how, but I just know it’s him.”

“Yeah, so why did you drag me up here?” Stiles snaps, out of sorts with under 8 hours of sleep for the past 2 days under his belt.

“Because I want to know what’s going on!” Scott exclaimed, waving his hands around in a parody of what Stiles normally did.

“What exactly is do you think is going on, Scott?” Stiles asked tiredly, laying his head down, wondering how long it would take him to fall asleep. Wondering how long it is before he passes out standing up.

“You smell like you’re on a caffeine high all the time, but you have bags under your eyes and your bed doesn’t smell like you’ve slept in it for at least a day or two. Why the hell are you not sleeping, Stiles?”

“I sleep!” He protested. “Sometimes.” he added after seeing Scotts bitch face. “Look, I’ve just been having issues with nightmares and shit. It’ll probably go away if I give it enough time. I’m not supernatural or trained to deal with this, Scott, it won’t just leave me alone like it would you or Isaac or Allison.”

Scott was giving him a puppy dog face, but Stiles didn’t want to deal with it, so he looked away. “Scott, we’ve been through a lot, and now things are settling down, this is just my brains way of processing. They’re horrible, but I’ll get through it like I always do.”

If his tone was slightly bitter and Scott didn’t notice, that was on him, Stiles figured. He couldn’t lead Scott everywhere.

“Dude, I’m here for you if you need anything, you know that.” Scott said earnestly, and Stiles felt something warm in his chest. He sighed and gave his best friend a smile. “Yeah, sure, Scott, I know that.”

“How long have those postcards been coming in then?” Scott asked innocently, seemingly unaware of what bringing up the subject did to Stiles.

“Eh. Couple weeks, every so often. I don’t know why.” Stiles shrugged. Scott nodded, not hearing any lie in his heartbeat.

“I just thought they were the reason you were being so weird or something.” Scott said, before jerking his head around as Stiles’ heartbeat sped up. “Wait, why are you reacting to that?” Scott asked with his nose scrunched up.

Stiles sighed. “Because I have no clue why he’s doing it, if he’s just going to leave and never come back. And also the fact that I think it kind of helps, knowing he’s out, away from this mess. One less person to dream about being killed in increasingly gruesome ways.” He shrugged and got up, clapping Scott on the shoulder and reminding him about the fact that he had to go home and revise his essay, listing off all the issues he had seen on it before Scott had dragged him upstairs. Scott clattered down the stairs in what was his version of a moody silence, but Stiles knows him, he’ll bounce back.

Stiles nearly has a heart attack a couple days after that day when he comes home and finds another postcard, this one with no specific location, just a picture of all the tourist hotspots in California. It’s the message that wraps itself around his heart and squeezes until he can’t breathe. He chokes and it sounds like a sob as he looks at it, desperate to not make a sound because of the fact that his father is in the next room. He gathers himself as much as he can and goes to the kitchen to put it up like the rest. He stares at it for a moment after finding a magnet to pin it near the rest, taking in the message and ruminating on it before deciding it couldn’t mean anything.

  
_I miss you. -D_  


 

Stiles makes a subtle effort to avoid Scott after he gets the postcard, wondering if his friend would be able to smell the fact that Stiles felt like his world was slipping because that last postcard felt a lot like a goodbye. He barely gets through the rest of the week before he’s staying up until the sunrise peeks through his window on Saturday and he can’t keep his eyes open any longer before he crashes on the bed with his clothes still on. His father wakes him up at noon, and they laze around in the living room reading the newspaper.

Stiles gets up to grab a drink of water and is in the kitchen when someone knocks on the door. He goes to answer it, switching his glass to his left hand to answer it. The door swings open and the glass hits the floor.

He hears his father scramble out of his chair and call his name, but can’t respond, not staring into Derek Hale’s eyes like this. He takes a couple steps away from the doorway just as his father rounds the corner and stops to look at Derek, standing there watching Stiles with a concerned gaze. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe, and then his chest is seizing up and his dad is starting forward, but Derek is already there, touch gentle as he lowers Stiles to the floor before he can just collapse. His hand is warm as he grabs Stiles and cradles it to his chest, over his heart so Stiles can feel it beating.

It’s going rather fast, but Stiles doesn’t care about that, closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling, lets it guide his breathing, loosen the chains around his chest. He thinks Derek was saying something, but it’s quiet now and the only sound is his ragged gulps of air. He opens his eyes and thinks something is wrong, the faces in front of him are vibrating, but realizes it’s just because he’s shaking. His dad crouches down in front of him, and Stiles does not think about the fact that Derek is right beside his father, that Stiles’ hand is right over Derek’s heart as he breathes slowly, Derek’s chest warm as it raises one lungful at  a time.

“Stiles?” He jerks out of his reverie as his father calls his name and takes his other hand, monitoring his pulse. He blinks to clear his blurry vision as he looks up at him, hating that he’s worried his dad like this.

“Let’s bring him to the couch,” his father says, turning to Derek. Derek nods silently and Stiles finds that he has a hard time convincing his hand to unwrap itself from the front of his shirt, where Stiles didn’t realize he was clinging to. Derek disregards it completely, helping him up so he has no reason to let go, and Stiles looks up into his eyes for the first time since he opened the door. He’s caught by the look in Derek’s eyes, feeling Derek’s hands tighten on his arms briefly before loosening his grip and nudging Stiles in the direction of the couch.

Derek waits until he sits down and then sits down right beside him. His father goes to the kitchen and Stiles is suddenly pissed at how carefully Derek is handling him after having been the one to leave.

“You left.” He hissed accusingly, eyes flickering towards where his father had left the room.

“I had to get away for a bit, Stiles, after all that had happened.” Derek said wearily.

“If I hadn’t gone back for my wallet, you would’ve left without saying a word, as if you didn’t care.” Stiles spat, jerking away and moving to the opposite end of the couch.

“That’s just it, it’s not that I didn’t care, it’s that I cared too much.” Derek snarled. “All I could see when I closed my eyes was-” He stopped and closed his eyes, but Stiles could guess. “I couldn’t stay and see you get hurt, not like all the other people I’ve ever cared about, not after what I’ve been through.”

“Don’t play with me Derek, not after all of this. I can’t.” Stiles chest ached and he vaguely spared a thought for the fact that this was probably the mother of all panic attacks coming on, and shouldn’t he do something to stop that? But Derek was getting up looking frustrated and his father was coming back and he was done. He avoided the hand that Derek almost reached out for him, ducking around his father and making for the stairs.

Stiles ran up to his bedroom, shut his door and slid down it , gasping for breath, grinding the heel of his palms against his eyes, desperately trying to contain the tears lurking. He heard the purr of the Camaro pulling out of the driveway and it was too much. He leaned forward, on his knees with his forehead on the ground as he sobbed at how much it hurt. He felt the tightening of his chest, a warning and dug his nails into his forearm until it bled, and still couldn’t feel anything.

He didn’t know how long he was there, fingernails digging into his arm, drawing red lines down his arm and sometimes drawing blood, before there was a familiar voice in his ear, fraught with worry.

“Stiles, _Stiles_ , shit, _fuck_. Come on, look at me, breathe.” Stiles just sobbed harder, each breath harsh and rattling in his lungs as his brain went into a familiar foggy state. A hand touched the hand that was digging into his forearm and he jerked up and away, crashing back into the door, curling away and putting his head between his knees.

“STILES!”

Stiles dragged his head out from between his legs and stared at Derek, who had scooted as close as he could be without touching Stiles and who looked panicked as he stared at Stiles. Stiles was aware that he was shaking rather violently, breath still rattling in his lungs as he battled the panic that had wrapped a steel bar around his chest.

“God, just breathe for me, can you do that? Stiles, please, in and out.” Derek said desperately, hand twitching like he wanted to reach out before clenching it into a fist hard enough that Stiles saw blood drawn from claws. He reached out a trembling hand and laid it on Derek’s hand, shocked at the loss of control. Derek had near perfect control of the shift, doing something like that was just as bad as... well, Stiles couldn’t think of any comparisons, but it seemed wrong for Derek to let that slip through. Derek scooted closer, and Stiles closed his eyes, taking a shuddering almost breath.

“Your heart’s still racing so much, what’s the likelihood of you giving me a stroke before you have a heart attack?” Derek muttered half to himself. Stiles huffed a laugh, and just like that the steel band was gone from his chest and he could breathe. Derek jerked closer, hands twitching again as if he were resisting the urge to bring Stiles into his arms.

“You’re an asshole.” Stiles muttered weakly.

“I get that a lot,” Derek agreed. “Mostly from you, I’d almost missed it these last few months.” He raised an eyebrow at Stiles and quirked the corner of his mouth up in an almost smile, but at the reminder, Stiles withdrew his hand and curled back up against the door.

“You left.” He said accusingly.

“Yes.” Derek said eloquently, managing somehow to retreat back into his normally stony exterior without moving a muscle.

“I thought there was-” Stiles cut himself off abruptly, looking vaguely sick before continuing. “And then you left, and then the fucking postcards gave me this kind of awful hope, and then you sent that one from San Diego and I lost all hope that you would come back.” He was looking steadfastly at his desk, recalling the wave of grief that had staggered him at the thought of never seeing Derek again.

“Stiles? Stiles, look at me, I’m not leaving you again. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner, I had to wait until your dad left, he was called into work and I didn’t want him to come in and see me here after I walked out his front door.”

Stiles was looking at Derek before he had finished, amazed at the amount of words he was hearing. Derek scowled at him and Stiles finally felt able to breathe. He slumped bonelessly against the door, just looking at Derek, with his eyebrows and muscles sitting on the floor in front of him, staring at him as if he were afraid Stiles would start throwing things at him. Which wasn’t a foregone conclusion, Stiles knew there was still some anger in him, but right now he was just achingly weary.

Derek was looking at him, a soft look in his eyes. He stood up, offering a hand to Stiles, who took it warily, standing up and swaying with the blood rush to his head.

“Woah,” he said as his knees gave out on him. Derek huffed and grabbed him around the waist, putting one of Stiles’ arms around his neck before he semi dragged him over to the bed and attempted to let him down without tripping over himself. Stiles finally rolled his eyes and smacked him over the head with the arm that was over Dereks shoulders. A glare was all the response he got, but Stiles just kind of leaned on him and bumped his knees, grinning as Derek fell on the bed with a startled expression, dragging Stiles on top of him.

The moment changed and Stiles felt his grin slip away as he stared at Derek, poised above him with his arms braced on Derek’s shoulders.

“What is this?” Stiles asked quietly, watching Derek’s eyes flicker down to his lips.

“What do you want it to be?” Derek asked in return. Stiles scowled at his deflection and started to get up, freezing as he brushed up against something that was definitely not Derek’s leg just as Derek grabbed him with a pinched expression. Stiles goggled down at him, not daring to move. Derek challenged him with his eyebrows to say anything and Stiles couldn’t help but grin.

“Well, at least we’re on the same page now.” Stiles said thoughtfully. Derek’s eyebrows communicated a general level of confusion, while his face was frozen in a pinched expression and Stiles laughed, sitting up(and totally not grinding against Derek, even the slightest bit). Derek grunted and his hands drifted to rest on Stiles hips, staring up at him with wary eyes and slightly blown pupils.

“I want you,” Stiles said quietly, grabbing one of Derek’s hands and placing it on his chest above his heart. “And I want this.” His pulse was racing, but this time for a different cause. Derek licked his lips and Stiles tracked it with a predatory expression. “What... what about your father?” Derek asked, almost desperately. Stiles snorted.

“I think he prefers me miserable with you around than exhausted and miserable without you.” Stiles informed him, rolling off Derek, not without a little sigh of disappointment though, and laying beside him on the bed. “I mean, I was up a few days at a time before I’d sleep and even then it was only for a few hours. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve learned on wikipedia the last few months, I mean, did you know that-” he was cut off by Derek kissing him and he’d have to tell him that really was rude of him, but later. After Derek took his tongue out of his mouth and stopped kissing him, which Stiles was wholeheartedly for at the moment, giving in and licking into Derek’s mouth with much enthusiasm.

Derek groaned and pulled away. “We’ve got to settle some boundaries before anything else happens.”  
“Boundaries, that can happen, but later, Derek, come oooon.” Stiles whined and Derek chuckled. Stiles stopped his flailing at Derek and just stared. Derek stopped and frowned. “What?”

“You, smiling.” Stiles said, brushing Derek’s mouth with gentle fingers. Derek nipped at them and refused to admit that the heat stealing over his cheeks was a blush. “Stiles, we need to discuss boundaries.” He said firmly.

Stiles pouted. “Fine. Spoilsport.”

Derek flashed his eyes, but didn’t even remotely mean it and Stiles just rolled his eyes. Derek was reminded of why this was happening in the first place and sat up.

“First off, we’re not having sex until you’re eighteen.” He said firmly. Stiles opened up his mouth immediately, but Derek cut him off before he could say anything. “You are the Sheriff’s son, and even if we could pretend he would be alright with anything, it would still be breaking the law and I don’t want to put him in that situation. And I won’t be put in that situation.” He finished quietly, and Stiles stopped thinking about protesting when he saw the look in Derek’s eyes, remembering something Peter had told him a while ago about betrayal and being taken advantage of.

“Fine,” he sighed, rolling onto his side so he could curl up into Derek. A hand hesitantly tugged him closer and started rubbing absent minded circles on the small of his back where there was a bit of skin exposed from his shirt riding up.

“Second, we’re not keeping this from your dad, no matter what.” Stiles grumbled into Derek’s shirt, and then lifted his head. “Dude, I think he kinda already knows what’s up with the way its been these last few weeks and our grand reunion. He’s caught me moping a few times.” He stuffed his head back into Derek’s chest but not before the older man caught a glimpse of the flush spreading over his face. He grinned and buried his head in Stiles grown out hair like he’d been itching to for weeks, catching the scents that lingered from the last day, and under that was Stiles, spice and heat.

“I don’t think it will be an issue of telling him we’re together as much as it will be not going behind his back about what’s happening, Stiles.” Derek’s voice was quiet and Stiles felt himself relax, tension seeping out of his body, leaving him feeling boneless and sleepy.

“I wanted to tell him about it all. But...” Stiles tensed, and Derek rubbed his back soothingly, knowing without it being said exactly what Stiles was worried about. Once you knew about the supernatural, you couldn’t avoid it. It became a lifestyle.

“I’m not saying you have to. But... we’re stronger now. And it might help once you do.”

 Derek said gently, and Stiles huffed, his mind drifting as he let the exhaustion take over. There was a smile on Derek’s face as he gently trailed his fingers up Stiles back and began rubbing circles up his neck and gently scratching through his hair. Stiles closed his eyes in bliss and let himself be dragged under, feeling lips brushing his forehead before he surrendered to the first dreamless sleep he’d had in months.

When his father walked in the next morning, and didn’t even react with that much surprise, Stiles simply grinned and rolled over to look at Derek once he was gone. Derek looked slightly spooked, and Stiles simply pressed a kiss to the nearest bit of skin. “Relax, we’re both dressed, he won’t do anything. I’m sure by now he’s connected the dots. Come on, sourwolf, you can flash your fangs after I tell him what’s been going on so he doesn’t admit me to the nearest funny farm.”

Derek snorted, but sat up and rubbed a hand over his face. “If he shoots me, you’re responsible for the mess.”

“He won’t shoot you!” Stiles protested, smiling as he scooted over to the edge of the bed and heaved himself up. He looked at his old clothes with distaste and went over to his drawer, grabbing out a pair of sweatpants and a t shirt. “You want anything to change into?” Stiles asked, turning to Derek after taking off his old t shirt. He stopped as he caught Derek look at him with a hungry look in his eyes, and flushed.

“No.” Derek answered simply, in a low voice. Stiles felt the flush take over his face and travel down his neck, and turned away when he caught Derek’s eyes tracking it. He gulped and quickly pulled on the clean shirt, keeping his back to Derek as he stripped out of his jeans really quickly and put on the sweatpants. He turned around again once he was dressed and raised an eyebrow at Derek, who was still looking at him.

Derek flushed and turned away, standing up and stepping towards the door. Stiles paused, unsure, but Derek looked back and reached a hand out. Stiles looked at him and took a deep breath before taking it, following Derek down the stairs, knowing that whatever happened, he had someone at his back. Someone who would be there for him, someone he could depend on when the nightmares and voices plagued him. Stiles squeezed Derek’s hand, embracing what this meant, and stepped forward to meet his future.


	5. Derek's POV, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long overdue first part of Derek's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait! Holidays took over and then just when those ceased, I was maid of honor in my best friends wedding. I literally just finished filling in some blanks before I copy and pasted this down, so if you find any mistakes, I apologize! I'll fix them asap if you'll let me know :) Enjoy!

Derek wasn’t running. He wasn’t. He needed some space to clear his head after the shitstorm that had just passed. Something in him ached at the look on Stiles’ face though and Cora was suspiciously quiet on the way to the car. Her head tilted right before she got in and she got a concerned look on her face.

“Derek...” she started uncertainly but he shook his head. He could hear it. Had been listening to it since the moment the door had blocked him from being able to see Stiles face. The rabbit like heartbeat made him clench his hands into fists was quickly overlapped by gasps for air and he swung himself into the car, a plan forming in his mind.

“Cora, get in.” he snapped. She bared her teeth at him, and any other day he’d be perfectly happy to see the spirit she had, the spark of life that was still there, but everything else was eclipsed by the concern for the teenager inside the building who was still struggling to take a breath, all because they were leaving. She swung in and shut her door seconds before he accelerated out of the parking lot, hands curling tight around the steering wheel until it creaked and Cora snuck a concerned look at him. He loosened his grip a little and pressed down on the gas, needing to be a little further away before he did something.

Once they were on the outskirts of town, he pulled over, got out of the car and _howled_. To a human, it was just a parody of what an animal howling would sound like. Nothing like what Scott had sounded like what seemed like ages ago. But to Scott, who Derek hoped was listening, it was a message about leaving and that a pack member was hurting and needed him. It was all Derek was able to do without losing his resolve to not go back and stay with Stiles.

He got back in the car and ignored Cora’s gaze until several hours had passed and they were well out of the area.

 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

 

They traveled aimlessly for days. Derek wasn’t sure how to talk to this newfound sister that he thought he’d lost, who’d been so young when it all happened. They both made a point of not talking about anything that could venture close to what had happened. Conversation was stilted those first few days, but it gradually grew easier, flowed more smoothly.

They traveled aimlessly for days, heading south. They stopped several times during the day, to just eat and walk around whatever town they were in for a couple hours before they would get back in the car and drive some more. Derek was getting back inside the car on one such quick stop, this time just to a convenience store to use the facilities and buy some water, when he paused before starting the car and looked at Cora, who was frowning at her cell phone.

“What is it?” He asked, starting up the car. He wasn’t sure he cared, or if she wanted to tell him, but he’d begun to detect little things about her that meant she wasn’t against talking to him and at the moment her body language and general scent told him she wasn’t distressed unduly.

“Just texting Isaac, and he mentioned Stiles smells weird.”

Derek’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Smells weird?” he asked as nonchalantly as possible. “Like sick weird?”

“Isaac says he doesn’t know how to describe it, but he doesn’t think he’s sick. Scott told him he said he wasn’t sleeping well.” Cora said, eyeing Derek with far too knowing a look. He told himself that he was not flushing like a teenager. Cora smirked, but went back to her phone with a flick of her hair. Derek refused to think of what would have happened if Cora and Lydia had ever joined forces.

  
~-~-~-~-~  
  
  


With the rate that they drove, it took them a bit before they got to where Cora had wanted to visit. She’d told Derek they were going to make it worth their while to be on a road trip and had a few places she wanted to visit, one of which was Death Valley. Derek had stared at her for a minute before grumpily acquiescing to her request, but the smile on her face had made it worth it. They got in mid afternoon, and Derek pulled into a gas station to get some gas, already cursing the heat.

Cora heads into the little shop attached, and Derek gets some gas before pulling into a parking space and heading inside. Her scent alerts Derek to something that is worrying her when he finds her in the cards section. “Cora?” he asks discretely, not knowing how to handle his sister quite yet, despite the protective instincts that are waking up as their scents mingle and become more familiar together.

“You should get him something.” She says quietly, jerking her head towards a postcard. Derek looks at her in confusion. “Get who something?”

“Stiles. Isaac...” she hesitated and Derek was suddenly five times more interested in the conversation. “Isaac what?” He asked.

“He said that Stiles is getting worse. Like, not sleeping. He smells like coffee all the time and Scott is hovering all the time and probably leaking his concern because I don’t think Isaac would get this worried over Stiles.”

“And you know Isaac that well?” He asks dryly, but she gives him a sharp look and he sighs, pulling out one of the postcards that’s kind of generic and touristy. He doesn’t know what’s going on with Stiles, or why he’s so concerned, but he figures it can’t hurt.

“Alright alright, I’ll send this so he knows we’re alive. Satisfied?”

She just grins at him, but he feels his chest seize with emotion at the fact that she’s able to do that now, feels comfortable enough to nag him like Laura used to. He turns away before it gets awkward, but feels her eyes on him all the way up to the counter where he pauses before scribbling _‘It’s hot. -D’_ on the front and Stiles address on the back. He ignored the judging look that the clerk gives him when he sees what Derek had written and pays for it and some water bottles before going back to Cora and asking if she were ready to go.

Being cooped up in the car isn’t fun for either of them, especially when things are still awkward and stilted as they fumble their way around learning about the other, so that night Derek tries to find a secluded hotel that isn’t a piss hole for stoners and hookups by the hour before he walks with Cora to the park that contains a fairly large wooded area so that they can shift and run about freely for a bit.

It helps, and by the end of the night she’s comfortable enough around him to attempt to ambush him, but he surprises her in turn and tackles her to the ground, giving in easily with a half bark that’s laughter and joy that he hasn’t felt in ages when she flips them easily. He rests there with her hand at his throat, a single claw resting easily on the delicate skin. He growls and snaps playfully, instincts no longer so uptight about personal space since he’s not an alpha anymore, but she just leaps off of him easily, as if he’s not enough of a threat to bother her anymore. He lays there, looking up at the moon, which is on it’s way to being full again with a few weeks to go, and just listens to the sounds and scents around him, mind clear.

  
~-~-~-~-~  
  
  


He finds Cora sitting on the edge of the roof after he gets back from getting a bucket of ice to find an empty room. He wasn’t necessarily worried about something having taken her, or her running off on her own, but didn’t allow himself to rest until after he found her.

“You couldn’t have thought to say something before just running off?” He says disapprovingly, although he thinks he gets that she knows he doesn’t mean it seriously.

“I can never think down there.” is all she replies with. He nods, understanding. Up here, even if they can still see, hear, and smell everything they could down on the ground, it’s easier to think, and breathe, like there’s a barrier between it all and them. He settles down beside her and they watch the night move below them for hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday today (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ I hope you enjoyed, I can't make any promises for when the next chapter will be out, but I'll try my best! Hope everyone is having a wonderful beginning to their year (◡‿◡✿)

**Author's Note:**

> Man, the things a picture set or gif set can do to you. [This](http://zainclaw.tumblr.com/post/58941856675) one whopped me over the head with inspiration. You can find me on tumblr [here](http://theravingredhead.tumblr.com). Thanks for reading! Next part to come soon.


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